


Reach For Help, Time's Running Out

by MellytheHun



Series: The Deadlights Zine Series [5]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Character Study, F/M, Fat Shaming, Fear, Friendship, Friendship is Magic, Love, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Meta, Originally Posted Elsewhere, Prophetic Visions, Soulmates, fatphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29832921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellytheHun/pseuds/MellytheHun
Summary: Ben, alone in the Deadlights.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh
Series: The Deadlights Zine Series [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862683
Kudos: 10





	Reach For Help, Time's Running Out

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS
> 
> TW: fat phobia, fat-shaming, self-hatred, abandonment, mention of parental death, childhood trauma, bullying
> 
> Title inspired by the song 'Where Do I Even Start,' by Morgan Taylor Reid.

**Ben**

Ben’s father was a decorated pilot in the Air Force. 

Most of what Ben knows about his father was told secondhand to him by strangers in fancy uniforms. Those people have told him that his father was brave, and funny, and handsome enough to get him out of all sorts of trouble, which Ben envied and resented a little, to his shame. 

When Ben was younger, and his mother told him his father wasn’t coming back from where he’d gone for work, he could not have imagined the folded flag, or the glossy coffin, or the men in shimmering medals looking solemn, and stoic. And he didn’t want to, even if he could have.

Instead, he shut all the world out, and daydreamed; he just imagined his father, flying forever, out in a big, blue sky, uncaring if he ever touched the ground again.

And Ben never knew if that fantasy even made him feel better or not; after all, he would have liked to believe that his father wanted to see him again. He’d have liked to believe that his father wanted to be with Ben and his mother again, someday, but it was easier to believe he’d just flown away. 

It was simpler to say that his father was gone, and not coming back, rather than say he was dead, even though Ben still felt abandoned either way. 

At least, in one version of those events, his father is still handsome, and happy, and doing what he loved, more than he cared about coming home safe.

Maybe that’s unfair.

Ben remembers leaving his hometown, how his mother had said she couldn’t stay anymore in that house, the home she’d made with a man who was never coming back to it, and they were going to spend some time with her sister in Derry.

He remembers how he’d left the town he’d grown up in, spent all of every day in since he could remember being a person at all, and there was no one to see him off. There was no one who cared whether he came or went, there was no one who cried, no one who hugged him tightly and told him to send a letter, there was no one to miss him. 

People missed his father. But then, his father was handsome, pinned with special medals, and he was a troublemaker with a smirk passed down through recall more like mythos, and he could fly. Of course people missed him.

When he tries to remember what his father looked like, it’s mostly blur. He wasn’t so small when his father went away that he shouldn’t be able to remember him, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t remember. So, on the rare occasions that he wants to imagine his father, he looks at old polaroids his mother thinks he doesn’t know about.

There’s a photo of him that’s framed, the only copy of which his mother keeps with her jewelry. She doesn’t like to share it. He’s spotted her staring at it once or twice. 

The way his mother looks at that photo reminds Ben of the way Beverly looks at Bill. 

He doesn’t blame her, or resent either of them - he just wishes someone - Beverly - that Beverly would look at him that way. That she’d miss him if he were to leave. That she’d want him to be careful, and safe, and not fly away forever. But maybe she wouldn’t care.

She would care, wouldn’t she? She’s kind, and caring, and she’s warm, and sweet, so, maybe she’d have enough love in her to spare for him.

He reaches out an arm to touch her, he just wants to be reassured that she still cares about him, that she’d miss him if he went away; she’s bathed in sunlight, she looks like an Angel, like she always does, and he just wants to hold her hand and tell her how lovely she is - but she snaps her arm away as though burned. 

An apology is stiltedly building and crumbling at his lips, but before he can get any noise out, she gives him a look of utter repulsion, stunning him with shame. Without explanation, she turns her back, running off into the light until he’s blinded by it.

He spots Richie next, coming up on his right, and he tries to touch Richie’s shoulder, to get his attention, to ask him if he knows what might have upset her, but Richie shrugs him off with more vitriol than would ever be called for, and he sneers at Ben. 

Now he’s worried about Richie too, and he wants to ask what’s wrong, what’s got Bev and him in such a bad way, but Richie fixes at his glasses, and curses at him first, telling him to “fuck off,” and then he’s yelling after Beverly, asking if she’s got cigarettes, disappearing into the light.

Feeling disoriented, desperate, he turns again, he sees Eddie, but Eddie doesn’t let Ben touch him at all.

Eddie flinches away, holding his casted arm, as though he’s scared, shaking his head vigorously - nothing is said, verbally at first, but it’s made clear to Ben that there’s something sick, and ugly about Ben that has frightened Eddie. 

“It’s not personal,” Eddie tells him - but how could it not be? - Eddie’s mother told him so, that fat boys like him are bad company to keep, that his laziness, and his gluttony is contagious, that it’s embarrassing to be seen with him, and they can’t be friends anymore. 

Is Eddie’s mother so cruel? Can he say anything to it? Ben thinks it’s disrespectful, probably, to argue with the point of a parent he’s never met.

They both hear Richie call for him, easy, and kind, “Eds? That you, pee-wee?” Beverly’s laughter follows, and Eddie goes running after Richie and Beverly, out into the light, shouting back “fuck you, Richie! I’m not even that much shorter than you!”

Ben squints out into that light, raising an arm by his forehead to block out the most painful rays from touching his eyes, but it’s no use. When he blinks his eyes, he sees vast, bright blue flash on the dark side of his lids.

Next, Stan comes into view, a few feet away, and he doesn’t seem to be focused on getting anywhere. He’s just standing patiently, looking out to where Richie, Beverly, and Eddie have run off to. 

It’s like running through molasses to get to him, but Ben does get to him, and when he does, Ben takes hold of his upper-arm, frantic, heart pounding, a sick feeling building in his stomach - and Stan stares blandly at him. 

He doesn’t seem particularly offended, like Richie, or apologetic like Eddie, or disgusted like Beverly, but he’s indifferent. He’s so apathetic, it’s as good a dismissal as any, and Ben lets go of him.

In the aching silence between them, Stan gives him a look as though, ‘of course you let go - you and I aren’t friends like that.’ Then he’s calmly walking into the light, joining the chatter of Richie, Beverly, and Eddie.

Mike appears beside him, walking forward, and trying to stop him, to stop this all from happening, Ben grips at Mike’s shirt sleeve, and he asks Mike what’s going on, why does everyone hate him, why does no one want him around anymore, why will he end up alone?

“Don’t make me say it, man,” is all Mike deigns to explain; he swats Ben’s hand away, and calls after Stan, running to catch up.

There’s a presence still with him, Ben can feel it - that he’s not alone. Not yet.

Finally, Ben turns around, and Bill is standing behind him, his features dimmed by the way Ben’s figure blots out the light, like he’s so enormous, he could block out the sun. 

He’s scared to touch Bill, lest Bill run away like the rest.

“You know, right?” Bill asks pityingly, “I m-mean, you get it. You were n-nnnnnever here forever. You’re n-not one of us. Not really. W-We s-sssssaved your life, cause it was the right th-thing to do. B-But you’re blocking my light n-now.”

Bill is right, Ben thinks, tears streaming down his cheeks as Bill shoulders past him, joining the Losers as they cheer and celebrate him. 

Bill is someone to miss, the day Bill Denbrough leaves town the streets will be lined with protests, because he’s handsome, and he’s brave, and there’s more sky out there than what they see in Derry, and Bill is just the boy to traverse it. 

Bill took pity on him and let him hold a space in the Loser’s Club til Beverly could come fill it. 

“ _They don’t want you there, Benny Boy, who ever has? Better learn to let go, before they cut off that stubby, squishy hand of yours!”_

He knows - his place in their group is temporary. He’s transient, he’s not handsome enough, not brave enough, and if he flew away, if he never made it home, they wouldn’t miss him. They’d not even be able to remember his face.

The light is fading, he can hear them laughing, as they take off into some dream, never to return, and he wishes he only had the chance to tell them all that he was grateful, that he loved them all so much, that he wished he could be one of them, that he could be as funny as Richie, or as smart as Stan, or as brave as Bill, or as resourceful as Eddie, or as fun as Mike, or as beautiful as Beverly…

The meanest voice in his head, a voice Ben knows very well, tells him that had his father had a goodly son to return to, he might have. 

Someone brave, funny, smart, resourceful, fun, and handsome, someone with tales to tell, medals for his chest, someone worth missing.

The dark moves in fast, and when the light is gone completely, Ben can’t tell which way is which - he’s nauseous, and confused, still crying, and then he shouts in fear at a lightning-crack sound that shakes him.

Wherever he’s standing isn’t secure, whatever structure he’s covered by, it’s crumbling, and it’s going to fall on him, squash him flat like a bug, and he’ll be entombed there, in the dark, all alone. 

And if anyone does remember him, they’ll only remember him for what he wasn’t, they'll remember all the ways he fell short.

But he doubts anyone will miss him, anyway. 

The dark is going to crash down around him, and it’s not fair - if he had to disappear forever, he’d have rather flown out into the big blue sky, maybe he’d have met someone he knew out there. 

Or maybe he’d be just as alone out there as he is here, just as alone as he’s always been, everywhere he’s gone.

Abruptly, Ben doesn’t feel alone anymore - there are people talking, and then it’s quiet, and then there’s Beverly’s vanilla bean chapstick near enough to his nose that he can tell exactly what it is, and he wonders if he ever shut his eyes, really. 

It feels like coming out of a sleep, but he just blinks, and it’s as though he’s lost hours of his life.

And Beverly is there, holding his hands like she doesn’t mind that they’re soft, and probably sweaty, kissing his lips like he’s dreamt she would. 

It’s even more than he could dream up, kissing her, and he with her so close, kissing him sweetly like she doesn’t mind it at all, he thinks wildly to himself that whatever hours he lost - he doesn’t mind them being lost forever. 

He curls his fingers between Beverly’s, and she holds his hands even tighter, and he wonders why he’s ever felt scared before.

When they pull apart, and he sees his friends surrounding him with glassy eyes, worried expressions, covered in grime, dirt, blood - they came to rescue him.

But, of course they did. They’re his friends. Losers stick together.

They all hug him tightly, squishing Beverly and him together, and Richie is shit-talking him, telling him he’s an asshole for making them all worry, and Stanley is telling Ben that Richie is full of shit because he would’ve kissed Ben himself if another moment had gone by in stillness. Eddie is asking if he feels okay, that he wants to check him for a fever, and Bill is stammering about how no one is letting him in enough, and Mike is smacking a kiss against Ben’s forehead, and Beverly is giggling against his cheek.

He tells them all that he loves them, and realizes that he’s forgotten what’s like to be alone in the world. He hopes he never remembers the feeling.


End file.
